


girls are cruellest (to themselves)

by nereid



Series: the corona collection [2]
Category: Motherland Fort Salem, Motherland: Fort Salem
Genre: F/F, Gen, One-Sided Attraction, background Raelle Collar/Scylla - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:41:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23311075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nereid/pseuds/nereid
Summary: Raelle smiles, and it's apologetic, and Tally smiles, and it's accepting, and Abigail rolls her eyes, which is neither and somehow both at once.
Relationships: Abigail Bellweather & Raelle Collar & Tally Craven, Abigail Bellweather/Raelle Collar
Series: the corona collection [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1667455
Comments: 22
Kudos: 92





	girls are cruellest (to themselves)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from tumblr post [here](https://lackadaisicalnereid.tumblr.com/post/613487379440959488/paperswallow-when-i-say-girlhood-i-mean-to-bleach)

For the first time in recent memory, Abigail Bellweather does not know what to fucking do. She doesn't sleep well, alternates nightmares of her mother burning all traces of her existence from the family history, and General Adler publically discharging her from the army she is not yet a full member of. Once, it was both, with Raelle monstrously hovering over her and laughing, and Tally quietly not doing anything at all, a judgy expression on her face and a solemn voice saying _You are weak_. 

The laughing, unexplainedly, sticks with her the most.

The thing is - if there is a singular thing at play here, and not a mess of a billion of them, courtesy of taking an army's worth of teen girls, separating them from the outside world, and waggling a finger at them and pointedly whispering _play nice, girls_ , if there is a singular thing at play here, for Abigail it is this: they are soldiers. They will be soldiers, that might be more precise for someone else, because they are still in basic training - but not for Abigail. Abigail has been a soldier for as long as she can remember, and she remembers when she was ten years old and didn't see her mother for a year due to an ongoing crisis, and her mother told her before leaving that she was a soldier and had to be brave, and that little girls needed to let their mothers serve their country and not cry, and she remembers even earlier, when her mother gave her a photo album with photographs of her ancestors that went as far back as the invention of photography allows, and Abigail secretly keeps it under her bed, like an anchor and a dumbell at once. Abigail is a soldier, or will be a soldier, and whichever tense one states that in, it is an entirely serious matter for Abigail Bellweather, of the Bellweather family, generations upon generations of witches and same blood coiling through her that once coiled through them, and she will not let this stupid, rebel-without-a-cause blonde menace destroy any of this for her. She will not.

She works around this fear and anger, means to work over it and under it, at least before she can come up with a plan. She lets it fuel her, and wakes up earlier than everyone, and runs on her own before they go for a morning run together. It makes zero sense, sure, unless you're a girl having nightmares and the only thing you ever wanted might be taken from you.

She tries befriending Raelle. It might be too late for it, and it might make more sense to focus on Tally instead, Tally who was decidedly unhappy after finding out Abigail had asked for a transfer, because she used to think she and Tally were allies, and now it turns out that might not be the case. It's funny how this is probably what Tally feels about their situation as well. 

Abigail has a talent for accidental betrayals, betrayals by omission, it comes with the single-minded focus she is so proud of. Slight betrayals of the heart, like comparing herself to everyone, friend or foe, and feeling a singular sort of pride when she comes up first in the comparisons, friend or foe, it doesn't matter. More significant betrayals, like this one, being ready to metaphorically throw a friend into the fire if it meant she gets to come out unscorched and on top. It would have been better - for some value of better, anway - if Tally had not found out, but it is what it is, and Abigail is used to not having friends, this is not new; you don't get to consider yourself a soldier at ten without burning a few bridges. But, as they have been warned, they will pass or fail as a unit, so damned if she does, and damned if she doesn't, and Abigail is not sure she knows how to do this, not in any way that counts.

She gives Raelle compliments. Not all the time, and she is mindful of not being too nice, and of peppering them with criticism or condescension every once in a while, for good measure. _If only you wore your hair like that more often_ , _your singing was uncharacteristically good in the morning training_ , but sometimes she is close to slipping and forgetting herself. 

She knows this because she catches herself staring at Raelle when she doesn't have to, when they're supposed to be quietly studying in the library, dusty books for their only companions, but Abigail forgets herself and does something that could only be described as staring at Raelle, three oversized mahogany desks away, Raelle who does not notice her, luckily, Raelle softly giggling with a Necro girl, Raelle leaning across the table to move a rogue strand of hair out of the Necro girl's face and behind her ear. It would be easy, with some mid-level snooping, to find out this girl's name, but Abigail casts her as Necro girl in her mind and would not like to expand her role more than neccesary, by like, giving her an actual name. She forgets herself sometimes when Raelle is even closer, which is worse than when she is far, safely tucked away and unreachable. Once, Raelle comes back from a shower and steps into their room, while Abigail is putting on lotion on her hands before bed. Raelle is not someone that Abigail would ordinarily call particularly beautiful, but wrapped in a towel, with the way the soft light of Abigail's lamp catches her legs, and a smile on her face for a split second before she notices Abigail, well - Raelle might not be beautiful, but she is something. 

She is definitely something.

If only Abigail could figure out what to with her, or at least could figure out how to put something inside her chest that is not this fear of inadequacy, or, well, game over.

Abigail gets up in a bad mood the next day.

Her breakfast tastes worse than usual, and she would almost swear the sun was dimmer than yesterday morning. She runs alone, before everyone else. Her muscles have started to hurt from the endless exercise of the past week. They run together. She runs directly between Tally and Raelle, and this is how it should be, she feels, she should be their core, instead of this mess that betrays and stares when she is unseen and silently contemplates wishing Necro girls out of the army. She misses their mark twice on training, and Raelle looks at her with something like worry, and Abigail wants to kick her, and wants to ask her what the fuck she is looking at, and she wants to press her into the nearest wall until she can forget about the rest of her problematic existence.

And if she has various, mutually exclusive scenarios about what she'll do to Raelle once she has her pressed up against the wall, that's neither here nor there.

She does not have a nightmare that night. Instead, Abigail dreams of Raelle tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and training in unison with her and Tally, and of her fingers traversing the plane of Raelle's stomach, while Raelle giggles softly, and General Adler comments positively on their unit's progress.

She runs faster the next morning, and takes a colder shower.

Later that evening, Raelle is late for their evening meditation. Tally wants them to wait for Raelle, and Abigail would insist that they do not, were it not for the fact that they tried it two days ago, with just the two of them, and there was a lack, noticeable, a different energy at play. Witches get in sync easily, Abigail knows that intellectually, but both Tally and her know it in practice now as well. It's hard to say what exactly is missing, and they could try asking some of the girls from other units to meditate with the two of them. Well, they could, but Abigail would not stoop as low as admitting publicly this low level of control she has over her unit, and Tally's grown fond of Raelle and her energy, slowly and quietly, which is the way Tally does most things.

All of this means that Abigail has been pacing left and right in their shared room for the last six minutes, and Tally is doing some reading.

"Maybe you should talk to her," Tally suggests, careful. Abigail immediately spins back to face Tally, hands on her waist, fingers digging into her flesh, unyielding.

"Yeah, there are definitely a few choice words I would like to direct at her," Abigail snorts, uncharacteristically unladylike, and returns to her pacing.

She doesn't really think it's a crush, or at least it's not like the ones Abigail is used to. She doesn't really think she's ever been in love, no, nothing that serious, but she has liked people and she has wanted them. She's not sure how much she wants Raelle and how much she wants no one else to have her, and how much she just wants to be a soldier, damn it. Raelle's tied up in her life now, intractably and messily, and there's no untangling herself from her.

Abigail continues pacing, Tally continues reading, and Raelle's lips are a bit swollen when she enters the room, in a way that almost escapes Abigail's notice.

Raelle smiles, and it's apologetic, and Tally smiles, and it's accepting, and Abigail rolls her eyes, which is neither and somehow both at once.

The carpet is just soft enough, when they find their triangle shape on it. Tally sets the candle in the center of them, and Raelle lights it, and Abigail is the first to extend her hands, a lame peace offering. Damned if you do, damned if you don't.

They all hold hands, balance restored, seemingly.

Somehow, Abigail smiles.


End file.
